


Wicked Game

by ukiyo91



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Reconciliation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 14:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10362192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukiyo91/pseuds/ukiyo91
Summary: Eight years ago, Sidney Crosby gave up the love of his life for hockey. Now, prematurely retired and alone, Sid regrets the foolish choices of his youth.Geno’s made his reputation abroad, and now returns to the Penguins wealthy and famous. Thrown back into each other's lives, will they persuade themselves to give love a second chance?A Persuasion AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've posted a fic, but this one's been kicking around in my folder for so long I felt like I had to finish it. I was inspired to finish it up after re-reading some old favorite in the fandom. Persuasion is one of my favorite novels, and I hope fans of the book will be able to see where I've adapted plots and exchanges. 
> 
> Don't get fixated on timeline or medical details. It's all in the service of the story. 
> 
> Thank you to my friends Kay and Kara for editing and offering suggestions.

  
It’s a Tuesday morning when Sid hears the news. He’s up at seven am, working through his stretches and pushing through any lingering aches. He grabs his coffee and is out the door by eight, arriving at the rink just in time to meet Louis and Henry.

He’s setting up the cones on the ice for their pre-k skating lessons when he years Henry whoop from the bench.

“Dude, we got _Malkin_!”

Sid freezes. Louis shouts back, “What, dude?”

“Evgeni Malkin!” Henry waves his phone in the air, as if the screen could be seen halfway across the ice. “The Pens just signed a contract with him. He’s coming back to Pittsburgh!”

“Dude, no way!” Louis skates back to find out more, leaving Sid stranded at center ice.

Before Sid realizes it, the press release is being shoved in his face. It’s a picture of Geno shaking Mario’s hand, face serious and stoic. He looks older, Sidney notes. But of course he’s older. Sid is older too.

Henry’s freaking out. “Aw, man. This is gonna be great. We needed a skilled forward, and the guy’s _huge_.”

Louis is shaking his head, “I don’t know how they hell they managed to get him. He was getting paid so much money in Russia.”

“Dude, nothing’s worth more than a Stanley Cup.”

“I mean, he’s got Olympic gold.”

  
“But it’s the _Cup_ , man!” Henry and Louis continue to bicker, but Sid’s tuned them out.

A memory makes its way unbidden to the surface of Sid’s mind, of him straddling Geno’s waist, hands clutched on his shoulders. A fierce whisper, _we’re gonna win the Cup and retire here together, right? I’m never gonna give up on this_. Geno’s wide grin, his replied _never give up on us, Sid._

Stupid, thoughtless promises Sid was never able to keep.

“Sid?” Louis’s voice shakes Sidney out of his thoughts.

“You knew him when he was a Penguin, right?” Henry exchanges a glance with Louis, but Sid ignores it. The two of them are old enough to remember the Sidney Crosby Sweepstakes, and everything that happened after.

Sid shoves his hands into his pockets and looks out at the rink. “Yeah, we played together for a season before he signed his contract in Russia.”

“Aw man, I remember watching you guys on tv. Why’d he even leave when he had such a good gig here?”

Oh, I don’t know, Sid thinks. Maybe because I tore out his heart and mine too when we were eighteen. It wasn’t that simple, of course. But it’s not entirely untrue either.

Instead, he answers, “I think he just wanted to be closer to his family or something like that.”

Henry and Louis make a face, as though they both aren’t local kids who refused to go out of state for college.

“Well, we’ve got to see a game once the season starts. Sid, can you get us the hook up?”

Sid’s uncomfortable enough using his former status as an NHL wunderkind to ask favors from Mario and the Pens management. He’s doubly certain that if he goes to a game and sees Geno, he’s going to feel like absolute shit.

So he just shrugs and puts on his Coach Sid face, telling his guys to go set up the locker room. He may not be a hockey player anymore, but damned if he doesn’t know how to deflect questions like one.

It remains in the back of Sid’s mind as he goes about his day, and when Sid gets home that night, he goes about his routine as if on auto-pilot: a frozen bag of spinach goes into boiling water, a chicken breast is grilled, podcasts get downloaded to his iPhone, garbage gets taken down the hallway to the trash room, recyclables sorted into cans and paper baskets.  
  
All the while, his heart thumps a familiar beat. _Gen-o, Gen-o, Gen-o_. It’s like he’s eighteen again, spending his days in a fever of excitement and horniess and pure, honest contentment.  
  
He’s been careful to avoid searching Geno out these past few years. At first, after their split, Sidney refused to consider regret or remorse, burying his feelings deep and throwing himself into practice. Then, once it was clear that Geno was leaving the country to accept a contract in Russia, Sidney let himself feel disappointed they would never play together again.  
  
And then, of course, the accident happened. A bad check, a concussion, a knee that never healed properly, and Sid was done with the NHL. Laid up in the hospital, exhausted and heartbroken, he wished more than anything to speak to Geno. Even now, remembering himself at his lowest moment, Sid remembers how powerful that longing was--that sense that Geno would make anything better.

Of course, by then Geno was long gone, his departure from the NHL a result of Sid’s cruelty. All those promises made and broken. All those voices who told Sid no, not him, not now. All the things he let himself believe were truer than the truth in his own heart.

 

***

A week goes by and Sid regains equilibrium. He convinces himself that hearing Geno’s name just stirred up some bad memories, made him feel sorry for himself. Sid reminds himself that he’s done with self-pity, has been ever since he forced himself to skate again after his release from the hospital.

The sky hasn’t fallen, the earth hasn’t shaken under his feet. He’s eight years older. Maybe not wiser, but older.

Then Megan from Penguins PR calls him not ten minutes after he sits down to check his email. Mario’s mentioned to her that Sid’s been working with children from underprivileged backgrounds through a city-sponsored after school skating program, and he wants to bring the team over to publicize it.

It’s a great opportunity, and Sidney says yes before he lets any reservations take over. He doesn’t hang out with the team much anymore, even though some of the guys he played with remain. Tanger and Flower keep in touch, occasionally inviting him out, but Sid can’t see the appeal in them hanging out with a living reminder of everything they stand to lose in one moment of distraction.

The following week, Sid stands in the locker room. He’s dressed up a bit for the occasion, with nice pants and a sweater, a far cry from his usual coaching outfit. Mario is there with him, chatting idly as a handful of the team makes their way in. Megan and her camera crew are there, interviewing parents as their kids freak out.

Sid’s body is thrumming with tension and anxiety. He can barely summon a smile for the Penguins. He watches the door, lips pressed tight against each other.  
  
He wouldn’t come, right? Maybe he’s not even really back, and it was all a misunderstanding. He probably—  
  
Geno comes through the door, hands tucked into jeans and a Penguins jersey emblazoned with his number. He’s chatting with a teammate, posture loose and a smirk curling the ends of his lips.  
  
Sid gets maybe ten breathless seconds to take him in, relaxed and happy, before Geno’s head turns and their gazes meet.  
  
Back then, meeting Geno’s eyes across a stinky locker room was enough to make him shivery with adrenaline. It’s no different now, and Sid feels the same jump in his heart. He swallows, frozen to the spot.  
  
For a brief, halting moment, Geno looks stunned. It passes abruptly, and like a steel trap, Geno’s face closes down. He looks right through Sid and continues talking to his teammate.  
  
It hurts, even if Sid knows he deserves it. He lets Louis grab his arm and yank him around to where a group of kids and their parents have formed to meet the players. Standing with them is Mario, who places a hand on his shoulder as he passes by. “Okay, Sid?”  
  
Sid nods, viscerally aware of Geno on the other side of the locker room making the rounds with Megan and her crew.  
  
Henry and Louis are ecstatic and absolutely no help in wrangling Sid’s kids into their gear. Sid bends down to help Chloe put on her skates, taking extra time with the laces while his mind frantically whirls about. Should he say something? Should he and Geno just ignore each other?  
  
“And of course, Sidney Crosby’s here. He’s been coaching the summer camps with us for a few years now.” Megan’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and Sid closes his eyes for a long second before standing up and turning around to face the group.  
  
Geno’s next to her, face unreadable.  
  
“You probably didn’t get a chance to meet him when you were here several years ago.”  
  
“We know each other,” Geno replies.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Sid sees Mario stiffen slightly, but Sid gives a bland and well-practiced smile to Megan’s team. “We trained together after I was drafted and played a bit before the KHL signed him.”  
  
“Oh,” Megan blinks, apparently caught off guard, “Well that’s great then. I’ll have to dig up some photos for the site. It must be nice to see him again after all those years.”  
  
It’s not clear who she’s referring to, and Sid’s not going to be a dumbass by replying in the affirmative. Geno just grunts and mutters something in Russian. Sid feels a flash of embarrassed heat, and underneath that, a pang of hurt. But it’s not like he was really expecting Geno to be glad to see him, right?  
  
Mario takes over, giving Megan her press bite and escorting her away.  
  
Among the clang of lockers and raised voices of children, Sid and Geno face each other. Sid wants to say something, but whatever it may have been, it’s to the back of Geno’s head. Sid watches as he walks away, back straight and hands almost clenched. Sid swallows his disappointment.  
  
Ten minutes later, he’s out on the ice with the kids. The Penguins stage a couple of drills with them before showing off a bit. Sid stays close to the bench, watching with fond amusement how thrilled his kids are to see their heroes up close.

After his retirement, many thought Sid would never step foot on ice again. It had been one of the lowest periods of his life, sure, and for a time Sid really didn’t know whether he’d be able to enjoy skating the way he used to. He’d been working his whole life to get to the NHL, to play at the highest level, and he got to enjoy it for less than three seasons before fate took it away from him. From being optimistic that he’d be able to heal quickly to more cautious hope that recovery would come in due course, it took a while before Sid realized that his body would never function the same way again.  
  
But Sid’s never woken up and not wanted to be on the ice. It’s who he is, for better or for worse. Even when playing again wasn’t going to happen, he still chose to move forward. When Mario referred him to a friend who ran a pee-wee hockey team, he jumped at the chance. From there, it turned into a steady teaching and coaching gig and then a career. He’s proud of how far he’s come, despite the pang of jealousy that runs through him at the sight of his former team thriving and moving with unselfconscious ease.  
  
Before he knows it, the show’s over and the team heads out. Sid’s dealing with overstimulated children and trying to coordinate packing up, so he doesn’t get a chance to catch Geno’s eye again. He glances up only to see the silhouette of him out the door.  
  
Sid breathes in, and out. _It’s okay_ , he thinks. _You saw him, and he saw you_. The world didn’t end. At least they can meet now as indifferent acquaintances.  
  
Besides, he tells himself on the drive home-- _it’s not like you’re really going to see him again_.

  
  
***

The next day, Henry and Louis are insufferable. They can’t get over seeing Evgeni Malkin, and Hornqvist and Letang, and jeez, did you see Malkin’s slapshot?  
  
They’re worse than the kids, who are still buzzing over their star encounter and spend way too much time messing around when they should be practicing drills.  
  
Sid acts uncharacteristically stern and later feels ashamed at his behavior. Henry and Louis are so young to him, though he’s not even thirty. They’re handsome, vivacious, and talented guys. Sid had never been quite as outgoing as them, but sometimes their total lack of inhibition reminds him of how playing used to make him feel, and then once he started seeing Geno, how demonstrative they were in their affection. Geno used to put his hands on Sid every chance he got-- always crowding against him; wrapping an arm around his shoulders; grabbing his knee if something made him laugh when they sat together at dinner.

And Sid felt at liberty with Geno in a way he never had growing up as an awkward teenage boy. He’d even initiated their first kiss, a moment of excitement and fear on par with his NHL debut game.  
  
Laying in bed, it’s like someone’s turned the tap on inside him, and the memories pour out: their awkward first meeting, each stumbling over each other's’ language. Sid had spent so long learning Russian phrases, hoping he’d hit it off with Evgeni Malkin, the young Russian phenom who was drafted with the Penguins and would be arriving at Mario’s later that evening.  
  
And when they finally met, Geno’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he said in an unexpectedly low voice, “ _Privet_ , Sidney,” like he’d known him all his life.  
  
All of his firsts were with Geno. Objectively, they were both pretty clumsy at sex, but to his eighteen year old self they were unbelievably sophisticated. Just recalling Geno’s harsh pants against his ear used to get him hard. And once they’d figured out the whole blow job thing, it was like a game of who could reduce the other to whimpers quickest.  
  
Sid knows they were cocky. They were in the NHL and had eyes on them constantly, but Sid was flush with a sense of freedom. He used to think Geno was his reward for years and years of duty and obedience and self-discipline. And Sid was his best friend, his linemate, and the one Geno opened up to about his fears and insecurities. They spent nearly every moment together making promises, so young and wildly in love.  
  
He doesn’t remember when the comments began, exactly.

His father, one time, snapping at him, “Dammit, Sid. Don’t be stupid. This is your _life_.” He meant hockey, of course.

And Pat, who feared Sid’s distracted state might lead to exposure. Pat, taking him aside and urging him to “think very carefully” before he made any rash decisions. Any mistakes.

And Mario, who genuinely did care about Sid’s well-being, wondering if maybe Sid’s rookie season was the appropriate time for such an intense relationship. Wondering if Sid had thought about what all their hiding and secret-keeping would do to concentration. Asking Sid one night after dinner, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, son?”  
  
And yes, Sid wondered that too. The doubt crept in so easily and made itself at home in Sid’s mind before he succumbed to it. The painful realization that it was too much, too fast, too bad for his career. And hockey was what he needed to focus on, right?  
  
Years later, Sid can’t summon the fury he wishes he could. In the weeks after Geno left, Mario had tried to corner him a few times to gauge his feelings, but Sid refused to discuss it. And then a few years later it was all moot.  
  
No one cares who Sidney dates now.

  
  
***

  
  
Sid’s surprised when he gets a call the following week from Mario, inviting him to a pre-season barbeque.

He hesitates before RSVPing, because Geno will obviously be there. But Sid thinks maybe he needs to see him again to get some kind of closure. To know for sure that he can act normally in front of him.

Most of the team is already there when Sid arrives, and he lets himself in. He gets a glass of water in the kitchen before straightening his shoulders and making his way into the backyard. Most of the team is in clusters, drinking and laughing. Mario spots him and waves him over to the grill, where Nathalie helps prep the food. She pecks Sid on the cheek and hands him a burger.

He chats with a couple of newer Penguins, and then Beau Bennett, who’s recovering from a surgery earlier that summer. Sid’s sympathetic to the young man’s frustration, and listens patiently as Beau moans about his progress and training.

Over Beau’s shoulder he sees Geno, dressed in a snug tee and tipping his head back to take a long drink of his beer. The long line of his throat glows in the setting sun. Sid inhales and nods, hoping Beau’s convinced he’s still listening.

Geno turns his head and catches his eye, pausing with the bottle still in his mouth. One of his eyebrows tilts upwards, not quite an acknowledgment, before he saunters away.

Things get rowdier as the night goes on, once the teammates with families leave. When the noise gets too much, Sid slips around the side of the house, letting himself sink down onto the grass beneath a window. It affords him a nice view of the Lemieux backyard, everything a little muted by the purple-ish tint to the sky. There’s a slight chill in the air, a portent of autumn.  
  
Geno looks good. They haven’t spoken, and Sid has kept a careful distance between them throughout the evening. He has caught a few searching looks from Mario, but Sid was good at avoiding meaningful conversations and instead went through a repetitive loop of chatting with former teammates and grabbing more snacks to always seem busy/unavailable.  
  
Above his head, Sid hears the echoes of a conversation coming from inside the house, audible through an open window. It’s Geno and some of the younger guys, many sounding awed to be in the presence of such an elite player.  
  
“So,” he hears Beau ask,“You’re here for good, right? Not gonna head back to the KHL anytime soon?”  
  
“I make promise to Penguins, commit myself to bringing Cup to Pittsburgh,” Geno tells him, sounding stiff.

“Wow, I mean you’re giving up all that money and stuff. You’re like a god over there, you sure you’re going to be happy here?” Beau’s voice sounds joking, but Geno’s reaction is serious.

“No,” he says. “I make decision and I keep my word. Nothing worse than people who go back on promise.”  
  
Well, Sid thinks. That’s pretty clear.  
  
Beau says something in response, but Sid is up and walking away, feeling his face redden in embarrassment.  
  
But what did he expect, really? He had chosen his career over love, that was always clear to him. And he had rationalized that as long as he had hockey, he could be happy. What would Geno think, seeing him grovel for forgiveness only now that hockey had been taken away from him? Sid wasn’t fickle, and he wasn’t stupid. He’d made his choice, and now he had to live with it.

  
  
***

The Penguin’s season starts, but Sidney’s only able to take in a few games here and there. Fall means after school coaching, private tutoring with Junior hopefuls, and morning skating lessons with toddlers. The weeks fly by before he remembers that his parents are coming down for their annual visit.

While his mom understood Sidney’s desire to remain in Pittsburgh to try and carve out independence after his retirement, his dad had never quite gotten over what could’ve been. Sidney thinks their separation is useful in that regard. He can’t imagine how he’d feel living in Cole Harbour and having to deal with that everyday.

Mario, who’s always treated the Crosby family with far too much generosity, gets them tickets for a home game. Sid’s a little reluctant to take them, but his dad overrules them.

It hasn’t been more than five minutes into the first period before Troy starts picking the game apart, criticizing the puck-handling and skating. As predicted, most of his statements end with some variation of, “Sid, if you were still playing you wouldn’t have fucked that up.”

If anyone had been affected worse by Sid’s injury it was his father, who had once drunkenly attributed Sid’s head injuries to sloppy playing and distraction. “If you hadn’t been looking the other way, had been facing the blue line, _like I always told you_ …”

Troy doesn’t see that Sid sometimes has days where he can’t get out of bed, he’s so dizzy. Or that he can’t go to the movies without wearing sunglasses, afraid of flashing lights causing nausea. Or that sometimes his knee hurts so bad he’ll bite his lip until it bleeds. Then again, Sid works hard so that few people see that side of him.

Still, being around his parents is a mixed blessing. He’s always happy to see his mother and Taylor, and his dad is usually fine. It’s only when they’re back at Consol, seated in the box complements of the Penguins organization, that Sid feels the return of all that old anxiety. He’s not eighteen anymore but his dad’s sharp comments always had a way of getting under his skin.

“Jesus, Sid,” Troy’s saying over the roar of the crowd. “These guys look terrible. You could’ve been out there, I swear.”

Sid’s about to shoot him a retort when he spots Geno step over the bench and onto the ice. He instantly takes command of the game, swooping in to grab the puck on his stick and picking up speed as he glides down the rink. Within moments, the puck hits the back of the net and Sid jumps to his feet, screaming his appreciation as the horn blares.

“Is that that Russian guy, Malkin?” His dad asks, and Sid’s mom shoots him a sudden look. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“We played together for a season, remember?” Sid asks, feeling his fists clench against the chair. Is it really possible that his dad can’t recall the boy Sid obsessed over, whose flimsy excuses for having him over to “discuss strategy” resulted in Troy sitting his son down to bark some sense into him?

But his dad just shrugs, replies, “Guess the KHL really cleaned him up, eh?”

Geno doesn’t score any more that night, but the Rangers don’t put up any points either. Afterward, Mario invites them back to the locker room, and Sid feels himself being dragged along, half dreading half anticipating another reunion.

His dad is being critical again as they’re lead down the halls towards the locker room. “I mean, defense can only do so much but if you’re not scoring goals, then what’s the point? Sid, you used to be such a point-getter. I mean, what a waste.” Sid nods, feeling trapped and claustrophobic.

Up ahead, some of the guys are already gathering their stuff to go and avoid the media scrum. Geno’s clearly trying to make a run for it, but gets pulled back in to give an interview. He’s still sweaty and pink-cheeked, breath catching every several words. Sid can make out him saying something about teamwork and grit before he’s let go. Geno turns around and runs right into Sid’s family.

Sid would laugh at how awkward it is if it weren’t so tragic. Geno obviously doesn’t know what to say, and Sid’s afraid to say anything. Luckily for them both, Troy Crosby has never met a hockey player he couldn’t steamroll.

“Malkin, I knew the name sounded familiar.” Troy lets out a laugh, before slapping Sid on the back. “You played with my boy before he went and screwed up his career.”

Geno opens his mouth and shuts it, eyes narrowing as he registers Sid’s face. Sid remembers confiding in Geno how much pressure he felt under, how he never believed his best was enough. During one particularly stressful week, Sid recalls crying into Geno’s shirt, whispering that he was going to fuck it up, he was going to fuck everything up.

Geno once vowed that if his father ever said stuff like that again, he’d punch him in the face. Maybe that’s when Sid knew for sure he was in love.

Geno replies slowly, but Sid can tell it’s because he wants his English to sound better. “Sid was one of the best teammates. He did not screw up anything.”

Sid feels himself flush, looking down at the ground. His father chuckles, pleased. “Man, you two would’ve lit this city up. Too bad you went to Russia, you could’ve had a couple more seasons with Sid before it all went to shit.”

“Dad,” Sid starts warningly.

“I go to Russia for my own reasons,” Geno tells his dad firmly. “And Sid did fine without me.”

Troy hums, looking past Geno and spotting someone he knowns. “Anyway, good seeing ya. Sid, come find me when you’re done.” He escorts Sid’s mom to the other side of the room, leaving Sid and his flaming face with Geno.

Geno says nothing for a few moments before muttering, “Your dad still an asshole.”

Sid chokes out a stunned laugh, “Yeah, I guess so. He’s not as bad as he used to be though.”

“I remember how he used to be,” is the curt reply.

Sid can’t stop himself from continuing, “I mean, the accident really threw a wrench in all his plans for me. It’s taken him a while to accept I’m never playing hockey again.”

Geno narrows his eyes, taking Sid in. Sidney wonders what he must be seeing. He’s not as fit as he used to be, and age has given him a little more padding. At least his skin cleared up, and he gave up the godawful gel in his hair. Sidney supposes he looks alright now but Geno must be seeing something different. Something like defeat, maybe.

“What about you?” Geno asks him. “You have plans too. You accept that you give up your dream?”

Sid swallows. “It wasn’t easy. It took a lot of time, and I was pretty miserable for a while. But I’m doing okay now. I like teaching and coaching.”

“Like I say, you do fine” _Without me_ , Sid finishes in his head. Does he address the elephant in the locker room? Does he take Geno aside and say, _the hardest part was realizing how dumb I’d been, how blind._

Instead he shrugs and tries for a smile, lands on a grimace. “I guess we both did fine.”

“Guess so,” is Geno’s response. Then he turns around to head back to his lockers.

A hand lands on Sid’s shoulder and it’s Mario, watching Geno’s retreat impassively. “He did well tonight. He’s gonna be a great asset for the team.”

“Yeah,” Sid agrees, slightly uncomfortable. “You guys must’ve worked hard to lure him away from the KHL.”

Mario shakes his head, eyes landing on Sid’s face, thoughtful. “Actually, he requested to be released from his contract long before we knew about it. He expressed interest in coming back to Pittsburgh specifically.”

Sid blinks, thrown a bit by the implications of that. Why would Geno come back here? Why would he return to the place swimming in reminders of the past? Did he come back to prove something? It’s been five years since Sid’s accident, and it’s not like Geno came back for him.

It’s not like it’s Sid’s business to know, or even to ask. So all he can permit himself is, “Well, I hope he finds what he’s looking for.”

***

Megan from PR follows up a couple of weeks later, just as the weather turns cold.

It’s a slow day for him. He’d taken a fall the other day, slipping on some ice outside his favorite coffee shop. His knee feels sore, and Sid favoring it resulted in aches all throughout his body. Thankfully, it’s not a migraine day, but Sid’s still feels grumpy as he takes the call from his car.

The stuff they shot before the season began was a hit on the site, and Sid’s grateful that the publicity resulted in more sign-ups and donations. This time, Megan invites Sid and his team to the arena to stake with the Penguins after their practice.

He’s too exhausted to decline, and why should he, anyway? It’s a great opportunity, and he can’t let the anxiety of running into Geno again rule his life. Besides, their last meeting went okay, or at least Geno didn’t seem too disgusted by him.

So he agrees, and lets himself look forward to it. Henry and Louis accompany him and the rest of the kids meet them there.

Most of the Penguins haven’t left the ice since their practice ended, and Sid presses his lips together as he puts his helmet on. He’s been pretty much ordered to wear it anytime he sets foot on the ice. Between that and the lingering ache in his leg from the other day’s fall, Sid can’t help but feel a little discomfort at the idea of his former team seeing him looking weak.

But most of his trepidation fades away as Flower skates up to him and folds him into an excited hug. “Good to see you, man!”

Sid and Flower only had a couple of seasons playing together, but he was among the first to make Sid feel part of the team. Him and Letang were also the most dogged about keeping in touch after Sid’s accident, though Sid admits to letting their friendship slip on his end.

Sid hugs him back, accepting a back slap from Tanger as well. They rib him a bit as he steps out on the ice, skating a big gingerly to compensate for his knee.

“Love seeing Coach Sid in action,” Flower teases, as Sid wrangles his kids. Sid shoots him a look and then as if by instinct, his body tenses. Geno’s skated up near him, watching the group of excited children with a bemused smile.

He doesn’t say anything to Sid, instead kneeling down to talk to Liam, who looks a little overwhelmed by the presence of so many Penguins.

“You want to practice pass?” Geno asks, voice gentle. Liam looks at Geno for a long second before turning to Sid for approval. Geno raises his eyes as well, and Sid puts an encouraging smile on his face. “Sure, go ahead.”

Geno skates off, holding Liam’s hand.

“Wow,” Louis says from behind Sid. “What a guy.”

Sid organizes some passing drills with the other guys, then skates around to check and see how the kids are doing. The camera crew trails behind him. After about twenty minutes, the kids form a line and try to score on Flower, who deserves an Oscar for his agonized wails after each puck hits the back of the net. But Sid’s also pleased to see that many of the kids he’s coached are actually quite skilled for their age, and he’s not too humble to think he’s had something to do with it.

A sharp twinge in his knee prompts Sid to make his way back to the bench, where he can sit down and rub at it for a second. Megan and the crew stays trained on the kids, and Sid hopes no one notices his brief absence from the ice.

No such luck. Sid’s biting his lip and putting pressure on the knee when he feels eyes on him. It’s Geno, of course, watching him from several meters away, frowning. Sid tries to school away any hint of discomfort on his face, and forces himself to stand up and head back on the ice.

Ahead of him, Liam’s scored a goal and waves his arms around. Spotting Sid, he shrieks “Coach Sid!” and hurries towards him, his little legs pumping frantically on the ice. He trips and falls halfway over, letting out a sharp cry. Sid’s at his side before he realizes it, reaching for the younger boy’s body and finding that Geno’s there as well.

Liam’s more surprised than hurt, but the shock of the fall makes him tear up. Geno says something soothing in Russian, and Sid takes his hand to help him up, Geno holding onto the hand on his other side.

Liam hiccups a bit as they escort him back to the stands where his parents are, but he squeezes Sids hand and says, “Did you see, Coach Sid? I scored on Flower! I used the shot you showed me too. Did you see it?”

“Yeah, buddy, you looked great” Sid assures him, and Geno backs him up. “Good shot, might make you reserve Penguin.”

Liam’s thrilled, totally over the fall by the time his Mom reaches for him. Sid watches them fondly.

“Is your knee okay?” He hears Geno ask, and Sid turns in surprise. Geno’s not looking at him, gaze steady on the stands.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to act nonchalant. “Sometimes I just tweak it.”

Geno hums. “You still on ice a lot. Not bad for body?”

Sid shakes his head, “It’s fine if I’m careful. The worst is my head on bad days, but I can cope with it.”

Geno looks at him, eyes tracing from the top of his head down the length of his body to his knee. “I never say it, but I’m sorry about accident. Not fair what happened to you.”

They’re words Sid’s wanted to hear from Geno for five years, ever since he lay in his hospital bed angry and bitter that his ex-boyfriend hadn’t contacted him. Despite the way Sid treated him, he thought that Geno might’ve cared enough to send an email. If their roles had been reversed, Sid thinks, he might’ve booked a ticket to Russia then and there.

But that’s unfair too. Sid was the one to go back on all their promises, the one to make Geno feel like their relationship never meant anything, even after they pledged that they’d always play together and be together.

Geno being back and offering his sympathies is so much more than Sid expected to happen. He should be grateful at least that Geno’s not acting smug about their reversal of fortune, but then again that was never the kind of person Geno was. Like the way he treated Liam, Geno’s first instincts were always compassion and protection. The way he used to look after Sid on the ice, checking anyone who’d tried to mess with him and garnering minutes in the penalty box to defend his honor. Sid had never wanted to admit it, but he loved the way Geno cared for him.

“Thank you,” he responds. “It’s not so bad now. And I like teaching kids, so…”

Before Geno can say anything, Megan’s there with the camera crew. “Can we get a few words about seeing your old friend Sidney as a coach now?”

Geno puts on his media face. Sidney admires how far it’s developed from the surly pout Geno used to grace reporters with after games. “Sid is good coach, make kids good hockey players one day.”

“Do you remember what it was like playing with Sid when the two of you were together?” Sid startles at her use of the word, because obviously she doesn’t know, she can’t know--

Geno’s looking at Sid’s face as he responds. “Not together long, so I don’t remember everything. Just know Sid put hockey first, all the time. Always work hard, no time for distraction.”

Sid can’t meet his eyes, his stomach full with sour feeling. One step forward, three steps back.

He responds to Megan’s follow up on autopilot before making his excuses and heading back to the group to announce a free skate. Geno doesn’t approach him again after that.

Tanger invites him, Louis and Henry out once the kids leave. A bunch of the team heads to a local bar. It’s a weekday evening, so the team spreads out a bit.

Sid wonders if he should test the waters, try to talk to Geno again, but before he can head over, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

“Sidney, you drink with me first round.” It’s Gonchar.

Sid is led over to the bar and ordered a shot of vodka. He supposes there’s no way of getting out of this, so he knocks it back, wincing at the burn down this throat.

Gonch is quiet as he sips his own drink.

Sid hunts for something to say. He remembers Gonch from those early years as a mature presence in the locker room. He’d also taken Geno under his wing fairly quickly, translating for him and stepping in when Geno needed help with English.

Sid always wondered if Geno had told Gonch about the two of them. While they’d tried their best to hide things from the team and management, Sid can admit now that two eighteen year olds in love didn’t make for the most discreet pairing. But if Gonch had known, he never seemed to judge.

“Are you happy that Geno’s back?” He settles on asking.

Gonch nods, eyes considering Sid. “Zhenya did great things in Russia. He’ll be hero there for years to come. But he always wanted to be here, where it all began.”

Sid nods. Geno’s decision to accept a contract with the KHL came less than a month after Sid broke up with him. There had been anger and tears at first, and then a sullen silence. Before Sid could even think about trying to patch things up, Pat informed him that Geno wouldn’t be returning the following season. It was the news that shook the North American hockey community. Sid hadn’t even gotten a chance to try and talk him out of it; Geno was already overseas.

Sid never lets himself wonder what might’ve happened if Geno remained, the two of them miserable and angry and hurt while trying to be good teammates. It’s just not worth it.

“He’s a great addition to the team,” Sid agrees. He can’t ask Gonch what he knows, or what he suspects.

But Gonch just shakes his head. “In all the years he’s over there, I ask him to come back. Tell him he has brighter future playing NHL. He always refuse.”

“Why?” Sid asks, eyes finding Geno across the bar. He’s playing darts with Henry and Louis, the two of them basking in his presence.

Gonch shrugs. “Pride, mostly. Maybe he need to prove something for himself or to NHL.” He pauses, “Maybe he want to prove something to you.”

Sid’s not stupid enough to ask why about that. He fiddles with his glass, reaching for a new shot when the bartender puts one down.

“He never needed to prove anything to me.”

Gonch laughs lowly at that, muttering something in Russian that sounds vaguely exasperated. “The two of you always need to prove something, _da_? I see you two at the beginning, I think these boys way in over their head. Turns out right.” He pokes Sid in the shoulder. “Now he’s back. You both older, yes. But wiser? Who knows. Just don’t be idiot.”

He gets up, leaving Sidney at the bar, but not before Sid tugs his shirt to ask, “Why did he come back? Why now?”

Gonch casts his gaze to the ceiling, “You have to ask him that, Sid.”

 

“He asked about you, you know,” Louis remarks later that night as they make their way back to Sid’s car. Most of the team is still inside, but Sid’s got an early morning and his assistants ostensibly have classes at UPitt.  
  
“Who?” Sid asks.

“Geeeeeno,” Henry slurs, hips bumping against Sid’s.

Sid feels a flush crawl up his neck. “What did he want to know?”  
  
“Wanted to know how you got into coaching.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he also asked if you were in a relationship.”

“He asked you that?” Sid says, too quickly. But Louis doesn’t notice, just hums the affirmative. “Said you were basically a monk.”  
  
Sid chuckles weakly. He wants to ask Louis how Geno sounded—was he really curious, or did he fake nonchalance? He thinks about Gonchar’s narrow-eyed look, and grimaces. Obviously Geno had shared some of their past with the older player, but not enough for Gonch to really address it. But he’s glad, at least, that Geno found someone to confide in. So often it had been Geno against the world, isolated by a language barrier that no one bothered to try and surmount, except for Sid.  
  
He gets Louis home, Henry stumbling after him to crash on his couch. Sid takes the long way back to his house, driving past the classier residential areas of Pittsburgh. Further out, he knows, is Geno’s new house, which Mario mentioned had an indoor skating rink. Sid remembers he used to joke with Geno about getting one of those, back when his blockbuster salary was considered an inevitability. Sid’s normally pretty thrifty, preferring to cook at home and buy dependable products rather than flashy goods, but the indoor rink had been an extravagance he thought he and Geno would share. Midnight skates and holding hands and kissing whenever they wanted to.  
  
Another regret, another thing to breathe through and leave in the past.

***

Sid gets invited out with a bit more regularity by the team after that. Maybe once or twice a month, they all go drinking. Sometimes Louis and Henry tag along, but Sidney keeps to himself most of the time, aware that his presence is somehow a point of honor with the team—keeping up the illusion that he’s still a Penguin, still one of them. It’s a kind gesture, and Sid’s not misanthropic enough to deny social activity. Geno’s often there too, but the two of them haven’t had a chance to talk again.  
  
One night a bunch of the guys are a little too drunk at Phil’s apartment. Louis is fooling around on the treadmill, cracking Beau and Olli up as he tries to run backyards. Sid’s watching from the couch while chatting with Flower. Geno lets himself in, carrying a fresh six-pack.

Louis spots him and shouts, “Geno! Check this out” He tries to do some sort of jumping contortion, but wipes out--his body flung off the belt and into one of Phil’s bookshelves.

“ _Fuck_ , my wrist.” Louis gets up, cradling his arm while ignoring a small bleeding gash on his forehead. The other guys gasp and awkwardly attempt to help, many of them bumping into things and giggling as they head over.

Sid pushes them aside. “Did you sprain it?”

Louis blinks and hisses as Sid prods the limb, “Fuck man, I don’t know. It hurts.”

“Come into the kitchen. Phil, where do you keep bandages?” Sid leads Louis away from the curious group and sits him down at the counter. He roots around for some ice in the freezer and reaches for a dish cloth.

“Put this on your wrist and hold it straight if you can,” Sid instructs. Geno fills the frame of the kitchen doorway, looking concerned. “Is he okay?”

“It might be a sprain. If it were broken, he’d be howling.”

“Fuck no, I’m a champ,” Louis protests. But then again, he’s trashed.

“Don’t move.” Sid presses him down when Louis tries to get up, and Geno takes over when Sid accepts the ace bandage from Phil. Behind him, Henry calls out, “Dude, that was sick.”

Sid wraps the bandage tightly around Louis’s wrist, careful not to jostle it too much. He then wipes the blood off his forehead and checks out the cut. It’s shallow, but Sid insists on treating it with antiseptic. All the while, Geno watches and keeps a friendly hand on the younger guy’s shoulder.

Sid faces Geno. “I should probably get him to the hospital just in case.”

“I come with you.”

Blinking, Sid replies, “It’s alright, I can just take my car.”

“Genoooooo!” whines Louis. “Be my hospital buddy.”

Geno raises his eyebrows at Sid, who shrugs helplessly. They get Louis out the door, who bravely endures the good-natured heckling from the Penguins.

Dazed from the endorphins and alcohol, Louis narrates much of their drive to the hospital; and it’s only when Sid sees him safely inside and checked in that he turns to Geno.

“Thanks for coming with us.”

Geno smirks, “Good excuse to leave party early. Kess have shitty taste in beer.”

Sid huffs out a laugh, startled to realize it’s the first time the two of them have been alone together since Geno came back. He can’t help himself from offering to give Geno a ride home, which he accepts.

The stars look especially bright tonight, and Sid admires them as he rubs his cold hands together on the way to his car. Next to him, Geno is silent, and Sid can’t think about how to even begin saying the words that keep trying to claw their way out.  
  
Walking like this reminds him of the initial weeks of their acquaintance, when Geno was the stoic and serious looking kid at their training camp, billeted down the street from Sidney. They had taken to walking home from practice in the evenings, patching together sentences consisting mostly of hockey terms and emphatic hand waving.  
  
He thinks back to Geno’s words to Beau from Mario’s barbeque. He’s still somewhat serious, from what Sid can tell. He’d always had a dry sense of humor that Sid adored, but he really liked how focused Geno could be. Passionate too, Sid recalls with a spike of remembered heat.

How has he changed in Geno’s eyes, he wonders? Sid would like to think time and distance from hockey has mellowed him out a bit, but who knows if he’s changed for the better. He can’t help but think he somehow begun shifting into someone unrecognizable the moment he started to think about giving up the best thing that ever happened to him.  
  
Beside him, Geno clears his throat and says quietly, “Didn’t know you trained in first aid.”  
  
Sid turns to find Geno regarding him, his face still blank. He shrugs, aiming for affectless. “I needed something to do with my time after I got injured. I figured all that time in the hospital had taught me one or two things about anatomy, so I started studying. Plus, I work with kids, so it’s a hazard of the job.”  
  
Geno hums in consideration, and drops the subject. Sid’s car is freezing cold on the inside, and he blasts the heater as soon as him and Geno are seated. Then he fiddles with the lights and controls, distracting himself from the presence of Geno next to him.  
  
The drive is mostly silent, punctuated by Geno’s directions. Sid drives them to a more affluent area of Pittsburgh, with luxury condos and manicured parks. Clearly, the KHL paid very well.  
  
When he lets Geno off in front of his building, Geno turns around to mutter his thanks and their eyes catch. It’s a weird, not-long moment that still seems to take forever, and Sid almost thinks that Geno will do something crazy like invite him upstairs. But equally unexpected is Geno’s lips curving into a small smile, looking over Sid sitting in his Nissan with his damp car mat and week-old newspaper wedged into the center console.  
  
Sid wonders if this is the first real look they’ve had at each other since Geno’s return, and whether Geno takes pity on the Sid he sees before him. A hot feeling crawls up his chest, not embarrassment and not anger, but almost a need to tell Geno about his life, and how things have worked out better than he ever expected, and how he has a good job and friends and _see? I could do it without hockey after all. It hurt like hell but I did it._  
  
Instead, Geno says, “Good night, Sidney,” and it’s the use of his full name, so much like the way he used to say it when it was just the two of them and they wanted to sound grown up and intimate, that catches the breath in Sid’s throat.  
  
“Night, Zhenya,” he attempts, but no, that’s too familiar and it’s too late—Geno’s face closes up, and he gives Sid a curt nod before letting himself out of the car and walking into his building without looking back.  
  
“Shit,” Sid mutters to himself.

***

Louis recovers quickly, and before long the holidays are upon them. Schools let out and Sid finds himself swamped with promotional skate lesson packages and city pee-wee tournaments.

He receives and accepts Mario’s annual holiday party invitation, and one late December night he finds himself knocking on a familiar door, cradling a bottle of wine.

Nathalie lets him in, and Sid says hello to the Lemieux kids. Inside the house, it’s warm and noisy. Sid grabs himself a glass of mulled wine, and greets some friends, making his way slowly to the back of the house where a large fireplace is surrounded by plush couches.

Geno’s there, of course, and Sid makes awkward nodding eye contact with him. Ever since Sid’s unfortunate gaffe in the car, they haven’t seen each other. Sid’s been avoiding most of the team as well, armed with excuses since this is the busiest time of the year.

Sid spots Beau sitting in the corner, looking miserable. He’s still got a cast on his leg, having reinjured himself only weeks after rejoining the team. He’s the kind of guy who seems to have permanent bad luck, which Sid knows a thing or two about.

He sits down next to Beau and strikes up a conversation, trying to stay away from hockey-related things; but most hockey players don’t know how to talk about anything else.

“I can’t even believe it, man,” he tells Sid. “I spent all this time resting and healing up, and it’s like I can’t even move without breaking something.”

“You’ll be back before you know it,” Sidney replies. He’d told himself that those first few weeks in the hospital. He’s hoping it actually turns out to be true for Beau.

Beau seems to lack Sid’s optimism. “I don’t even know what I’d do without hockey. I mean, it’s everything, right?” He must realize who he’s talking to and winces, “I mean shit, Sid, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he trails off, looking embarrassed.

Sid smiles, reaching a hand to Beau’s shoulder. “It can feel like everything, in the moment,” he says. “I definitely felt like there wasn’t room for anything else but hockey when I was your age.”

“Sid, I don’t want my career to be a disappointment,” Beau admits, staring at his cast.

Sid remembers that feeling well. He remembers not wanting to disappoint his Dad, or Mario, or his coach. He remembers crushing anxiety after every missed goal and panic after every exam with the team doctor. Hockey was his life.

The only time he forgot those fears was when he was on the ice with Geno. Playing with him felt like everything. Like he wouldn’t have to choose between hockey or Geno.

But he did choose, for all that he sometimes feels the choice was made for him.

“Beau, I can’t tell the future. I can’t reassure you that you’ll play your entire career. That’s not something you can controll. You have to remember that there’s life outside of hockey, and if you waste that, you’ll regret it..”

“Is that what it was like with you?” Beau asks.

“I used to feel the way you do now,” Sid replies. “I used to think that if hockey was taken away, it would be the end of everything. I used to think that if you sacrificed everything for hockey, that would be enough. But it isn’t.”

“Are you happier now?” And how is Sid supposed to answer that? It’s not a matter of happiness, he thinks, but what he’s learned in the last five years. The last eight years, if he’s being honest.

He doesn’t notice Geno behind him, the crowd around them dulled by the intensity of their conversation. “If anything,” he begins slowly, “I’m more certain now. The things I thought were true when I was young turned out to be mostly lies; and the stuff I thought I didn’t need turned out to be the most important.”

“Like what?” Beau asks.

Sid doesn’t answer him, because he finally spots Geno. He can’t tell how much he’s overheard, and Sid flushes at that thought that he’s given too much away.

“Anyway, Beau. You’ll be fine, trust me.” Sid gets up, and while Beau looks thoughtful, it’s tempered by a lingering moodiness.

Geno finds Sid a little later by the opening to the balcony. The doors have been opened a crack to let some cool air in. Together, they regard Beau.

“His nickname is Sunshine,” Geno comments.

“You wouldn’t know it by looking at him,” Sid says, watching as Beau’s face gets gloomier and more glum with every swig of his beer.

Geno laughs, and Sid’s shoulders loosen a little.

“It’s so weird to be with the team, and not be a part of it.” The words slip from his mouth without thought, and he wants to take it back. It’s too personal, and the last time Sid got personal it blew up in his face.

Instead, though, Geno regards him silently for a moment before saying, “Sid was always more than hockey player. Was always leader, even though not captain. It’s not about skill, not about body.” He pauses, casts a wry look at Sid, “though Sid always had nice body.”

Now it’s Sid’s turn to laugh, startled at the expression on Geno’s face. “We only played together a season, how can you know that?”

“Watched Sid play, even when I go back to Russia,” Geno admits, looking away and towards the edges of the bar. “Still my team, even though I play for KHL. Still a Penguin in my heart.”

Sid swallows, guilt flooding his body. He did this, he thinks. He broke Geno’s heart and forced him out. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You never should’ve left. If I hadn’t--”

“Stupid to blame.” Geno interrupts him, returning his gaze to Sid’s. He looks older, obviously, but there’s something in his face now that can only be described as wisdom. “My heart is broken and I overreact. I go to Russia to make point, but not think about future.”

Sid frowns. “What do you mean?”

Geno pauses, considering. “Nothing ended up like I thought. I thought I never miss Penguins hockey, but I miss it every day. Never think I date again, but I have relationships. Never think I would see you again, then do. Never think I want become friends with you, think I am so angry and bitter. But no,” He shrugs, turns a wistful smile towards Sid. “I come back expecting kid I leave behind, but instead find you grew up. Realize so did I.”

It’s as close to forgiveness as Sid ever believed he’d get, and it’s enough, he thinks, that they found each other again eight years later--each older, perhaps more serious and a touch lonely. He used to carry around an image of Geno in his head as Zhenya, eighteen and gangly and so eager to be loved in return that he’d tell Sid every chance he got. It’s the image he’s sustained even as he grew older and more settled in his skin.

Will he ever be Zhenya again, Sid wonders? But no, he tells himself, don’t be selfish. That’s what got him into this mess in the first place, always thinking about himself.

Instead, Sid nods, and offers to get Geno another drink. Geno accepts it gratefully, and the conversation turns to other things.

Sid thinks about their exchange all night and throughout the next day. It had been nice. Some jokes, a shadow of the old Sid-smile Geno used to give him. The lingering heat of Geno’s hand on his upper arm.

  
***

Out of the blue, Sid gets a strange phone call. It’s a rep from the Maple Leafs who’s seen Sid’s videos with the Penguins and wants to know if he’d be interested in an assistant coaching gig with the Marlies.

“We love that you’ve kept at hockey since your retirement, and we’re always looking for fresh talent to train the next generation of hockey players.”

Sid doesn’t know what to say. The rep continues, “We know you’ve been based in Pittsburgh for a while, but we’re hoping to entice you away. Let me send a formal package for you to look at.”

Sid hangs up and calls Mario, who sounds remarkably unsurprised. “Sid, I always know you were destined to do something great. Toronto is an excellent opportunity to get to the next stage in your career.”

“I can’t believe they even want me,” Sid tells him. Because who wants a washed up former hockey player nearing thirty to do anything?

“Sid, you’ve always been your own worst critic. Believe me when I say you should’ve been courted long before this.”  
  
That morning, Sid gets to the arena extra early. He makes sure each locker has a bottle of water, unpacks the towels he picked up from the cleaners, and goes out onto the ice to set up cones for drills.  
  
Parts of the rink are still dark, and it lends the ice an eerie brightness. Sid lets himself drift for a little bit, one foot in front of the other, relishing the drag and pull of his weight against the ice.

He’s made a home for himself in Pittsburgh, put down roots, and even when things went sideways he wanted to stay. Maybe now he can admit that part of him wanted to stay put so that Geno knew exactly where to find him, should he ever come back. Should they ever try to bridge the gap that had grown into a chasm between them.  
  
That night, he opens his email to see the job description. He has to admit, Toronto is a seductive option. The ability to be with a team again, the financial security and long-term benefits, and the proximity to his family are all things he’d put in the pro-list.

He not quite prepared to accept; but he can’t say no just yet either.

Sid stews on it for a couple of days, torn between asking Mario for more advice or relying on his own judgement. During that time, he thinks about Geno too. He wonders if it would be too presumptuous to text him.

He thinks about their interaction at the bar the other night. It’s not…it’s something, right?

_Even if you two were friendly again, do you honestly think Geno would take you back_? It’s a heady and dangerous thought. Things haven’t changed that much from eight years ago. Geno’s still a star, the pride of Pittsburgh. And despite being out of the game for years, he’s still Sid the Kid to a lot of people.

Sid shakes his head. It’s pointless to hinge his decisions on what-ifs. And it’s even more pointless to try and talk himself out of the potential of _something_ with Geno again. Hasn’t he learned his lesson by now?

***

The ice in Pittsburgh is just starting to thaw and Sid still hasn’t given Toronto an answer. They’ve been following up, flattering him and expanding on all the opportunities this new situation would afford him.

Mario follows up too, inviting him to a PR event with the team. It’s some sort of cocktail and concert gig to fundraise for children's charity.

Sid and Geno spot each other immediately. Sid admires the cut of Geno’s tux, the breadth of his shoulders tapering into a narrow waist. Geno approaches him , and he’s beaming. Sid feels the breath leave his lungs. Geno hasn’t looked at him like that since...

“Sid!” Geno’s hands raise slightly, as if to reach for Sid, but he drops them. The smile remains on his face though, and Sid is helpless to deny a returning grin.

“You come for concert or for cocktail?” Geno jokes, “Remember Sid have shitty taste in music.”

“Hey,” Sid protests, “Not again with the Dave Matthews Band hate.”

Geno tosses his head back and laughs. “I know you have no appreciation for classics.”

“You listened to the 8 Mile soundtrack on repeat that summer. It was awful.”

They slide into a familiar back-and-forth, and Sid feels a weight on his chest lift. Toronto seems a million miles away.

They make it through a round of drinks before Mario approaches them. “Hey boys, can I borrow Sid for a second?”

Sid nods and turns to Geno, who appraises Mario cooly. “See you later.”

Mario introduces him to some people before drawing him to a secluded corner of the party. “Sid, I wondered if you’d given anymore thought to the Toronto job.”

Sid shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s a great job, I know. But there are so many reasons to stay here.” He can’t help but look at Geno as he says it, and he sees Mario frown as his gaze is followed.

Mario sighs. “Sid, I know you think Geno coming back means something. I know things were intense between you guys for a while. And I know you both were hurt by how it all went down.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Sid almost snaps, because if he does it might not end well.

Sid’s never been quite sure how much Mario knew he was asking Sid to give up. Advice from him always sounded like the gentlest nudge of an order--kindness coating steel. Nothing malicious, of course, but Mario knew better than anyone that Sid feared disappointing the people who supported him. Dad, coach, manager, agent, it didn’t matter who. People expected things from Sid, whereas Geno never had. Or at least, he’d only expected Sid to mean it when he said _I love you, and I’m not going to change my mind._

The silence between them lengthens, and Mario places a hand on Sid’s shoulder. A soft demonstration of paternal affection, or at least paternal influence.

“Sid, you’ve always made good decisions. Sensible decisions. Trust yourself on this one, alright?”

After their talk, Sid tries to find Geno, but the crowds are thicker now.

He thinks he catches a glimpse of him by the restroom, maybe with Mario, but he can’t tell for sure. Then he’s drawn into a conversation with Tanger and Duper for a while.

Once the music starts, Sid finds his way to his seat but then feels a large body push past him. Turning his head, Sid realizes it’s Geno. He’s looking back at Sid, face red and eyes glittering with anger.

“What happened?” Sid asks him, but Geno says something sharp in Russian and marches towards the exit.

“Wait!” Sid calls, rushing after him. He doesn’t understand, things were so good, so easy between them, finally.

Geno’s long legs take him out of the building and down the driveway before Sid can get to the door, but he follows him into the night air.

“Geno, wait,” he calls again, and Geno pauses. He appears to be gathering himself, then spins around to pin Sid with a look that’s equal parts frustrated and resigned.

“Not sure what you want from me, Sid.”

“Please,” but Sid doesn’t know what he’s asking, or what he wants either. All he knows it that earlier that night Geno had looked at him like he used to before they kissed the very first time, hesitancy and surety mixed together. It felt like a beginning again, or the feeling of turning to the last chapter of a book and realizing there was more to read, that he only had to reach for a new volume to see where the story would pick up.

“Sid.” Geno pauses, then continues, “I come back to Pittsburgh for hockey. Not know if I see you again. Eight years, you know? I go to KHL to get away from all this, but I don’t fit there either. So I come back. I think, play hockey, make life here--like original plan. I think, maybe we friends again. But I can’t go through this. Not you changing your mind, not again.”

It might be the most that Geno’s said to Sid since he’s returned, and the words knock Sid back on his feet.

“Geno, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He opens his hands, takes a step closer.

Geno shakes his head, lips pinched and eyes hooded. “You go back to Mario, enjoy party. I see you around, maybe.” He walks to his car without looking back, and drives off in a screech of tires.

Sid watches the taillights fade into the distance, alone with the chill of the wind.

****  

  
Sid doesn’t know how things last night went from great to terrible. He can’t imagine what set Geno off like that. He stews on it all the way to the practice rink, busying himself with setting up cones and preparing the day’s lesson plan.

Heading back to the locker room, Sid is there for maybe ten minutes when the doors open behind him. Not expecting anyone just yet, Sid turns and to his surprise, Geno stands in the locker room with him. He’s dressed in sweats and a zip-up hoodie. He’s late for Penguins practice, Sid thinks.

“Geno, what are you doing here?”

Geno shakes his head, meeting Sid’s eyes and then looking away. For a long moment, neither of them speak.

Finally, Geno faces Sid. “Heard you’re going to Toronto,” he says.  
  
Sidney licks his lips, realizing belatedly that they’re alone. “Where did you hear that?” He asks, worried that Toronto’s jumped the gun and already sent out a press release.  
  
“Mario mentioned it, said they were courting you for position. “  
  
Sid shakes his head. “They weren’t…courting me for anything. They said I’d be useful up there, that I could do a lot for the younger players who are coming in and need some guidance.”  
  
Geno frowns, holding himself almost unnaturally still. Sid’s so used to seeing him in action, shifting or fidgeting, that he finds it hard to actually focus on Geno like this.  
  
“You would be good at that,” Geno tells him quietly. “Always good at giving advice. Saw the way you are with the kids. You make a good—great coach. Toronto would be lucky to have you.”  
  
“No,” Sid sputters, the word falling out of his mouth without thought. “I don’t know what Mario told you, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here, in Pittsburgh. This…this place is my home.”  
  
Geno swallows, looks for a moment as desperate as Sid feels, and Sid takes a step closer, ready to say everything, every word he’s held back for the last eight years, when Henry and Louis stumble in, loud and obnoxious.  
  
“Geno! Dude, it’s been forever.” Henry crows, slinging an arm around Geno’s ridiculously broad shoulders.  
  
Louis nods, gesturing to his forehead, “Dude, check out the gnarly scar I got from that party. “  
  
Geno hums distractedly, looking back at Sid every five seconds, as Henry and Louis drag him into their high-speed conversation.  
  
Sid however, feels like time’s slowed down. He wants to push Louis and Henry away, wants to take Geno aside, but then the doors open again and his kids come rushing in. Now it’s chaotic Sid can only watch helplessly as Geno remains where he is for a second before heading out.

  
****

  
Sid’s concentration is shot for the whole day, mind whirring over the sequence of events. Geno’s anger at the party, his abrupt arrival and assumption about Sid’s future. How did he even find out about Toronto, Sid wonders. He thinks back to the other night, back to Mario’s careful concern.

He’s not sure he wants to go down that path.

Sid eats, takes out the trash, charges his phone, and takes a shower. Towelling his hair, he sits down at his laptop to check his email once before bed.

He has one message.  
  
_Sidney,_

_I write you a thousand times in my head, for 8 years. I want to write you angry email, and demand you to tell me why you break my heart. I want to write you after I leave for Russia, tell you that I be ten times the player you are over there. And then I write you email when you have your accident. I tell you I am so sorry, that I come on next flight, that we can be together again. But I delete email, because I don’t want to be the thing you settle for._  
  
_But I see you again this year and you are still strong, still kind, still most beautiful person I have ever seen. I thought once that I could move on. But the truth is, I never move on. I see you and I feel agony and hope, because I can not be where you are and not be with you. So please, tell me I am not wrong. Tell me yes, and never change your mind. Because I will not change mine._  
  
_Zhenya_  
  
When Sid recovers from numb shock, he reads the email again. And again. And one more time after that.  
  
How is love supposed to make him feel? With Geno, he’d always felt like pure, undiluted Sidney: no affectations, no defenses, no forced smiles. Everything he said was the right thing to say because he, Sidney, was saying it to Geno; everything he did was so naturally, perfectly him, because Geno never expected and never demanded anything different.  
  
And so he wonders, when did that feeling become distorted? It had been so innocent—Mario’s veteran concern, his parent’s comments about discipline and focus, and Pat’s quiet words about exposure, and press and how if Sid thought he was well known now, wait until he becomes one half of the most infamous scandal in modern sports history.  
  
When had he stopped trusting himself? Sid can forgive himself the stupidity and gullibility of youth. He doesn’t paint these people as villains in some sort of tragic gay romance. He knows they were well-intentioned, and he knows that he and Geno at 18 were on the cusp of something wild and overwhelming that had the potential to blow up in their faces.  
  
He can’t dwell on how he would’ve changed things. But that feeling of perfect Sidney-ness, which he’s felt only when he’s on the ice or when he helps his kids achieve their goals, is there when Geno smiles at him. _This is love_ , he thinks. Why did he persuade himself he wasn’t allowed this? Why did he think it wasn’t real just because it happened so young, and so fast?

Not an hour later, Sid’s on his umpteenth reading of the email when he hears a series of heavy knocks.

He bolts for the door. He’s halfway down the stairs when he hears another thud, and he knows, he just knows that when he opens that door he’ll find—  
  
Geno. Similarly panting and dumb-faced, hand raised in a fist against the air. Geno swallows, asks, “Did you get my email?”  
  
Sid grabs him and kisses him. Geno makes a noise against his lips, almost like a sob, and Sid thinks they’ve cried enough. Instead, he laughs, joy springing from his chest in uncontrollable bursts. He giggles into Geno’s mouth, and Geno huffs out a laugh in return, arms reaching around Sid’s back to clutch him tightly against him.  
  
There will be conversations later, Sidney knows. Oceans of conversations, and apologies and forgiveness. But here, now, framed against the doorway for the entire world to see, Sidney refuses to think about anything but the present. Anything but the solid pressure of this long-missed body in his arms, of Geno’s hot gasps tracing against his neck, “Sidney, _mIlaya moyna, ya tebya lyub-lyu_ …”

The rest is bliss.

****

  
Several weeks later, it’s a Tuesday morning and Geno’s handing Sid his cup of coffee as they make their way to the rink.

“Beau invite me to party tonight, want to come with?” Geno asks him as they lace up. The place is empty, and Sid feels warm with anticipation of getting on the ice again with Geno, even if it’s just warm-up laps.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“It’s house party. Lots of drunk kids, Coach Sid may disapprove.” Geno teases him, grinning as he leans in to press a kiss to Sid’s brow.

“I’m 27 not 57,” Sid rolls his eyes, swats his boyfriend away.

Geno continues, grinning, “Remember when you threw up all over rose bushes after we go to Army’s birthday? You tell me earlier you always in control.”

Sid laughs, relieved that they can speak about the past like this now, with fondness rather than bitterness. “You were no help, you just laughed at me!”

“You get drunk after two shots, no stamina.”

“I’ll show you stamina,” Sid says, letting his lips curve into a smirk that Geno mirrors.

Geno hands Sid his helmet, careful with his safety even though Sid’s told him he’s fine to skate without it. “I see you after class then, yes?”

“Yep, or you could stick around and help me teach the kids. They’d go nuts to see you.”

Geno hums. “Parents might be there. Might wonder why I’m alone with Sid. Maybe not look so great.”

Sid stands up and fixes him with a steady gaze. “Let them look. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Sid tells him, surer than anything.

Geno says simply, “I believe you.”

His hand reaches for Sid, and their skates wear thin lines into the ice as they glide forward, into the future.

 


End file.
